


Telling Walt

by whereismygarden



Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 10:06:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4133502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/whereismygarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three different ways informing Walt that his oldest friend and his daughter are in a relationship could go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Telling Walt

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote the middle one quite a long time before the other two, so there's a lot of topical overlap, to the extent that the dialogue is occasionally similar, but I think it's still pretty realistic.

1\. Henry Tells

                “Walt, I have something to tell you.” Walt set his glass down on the bar. “I have a feeling you are not going to be happy with it, which is why I have chosen this relatively public, yet largely unoccupied place, to do it.” Henry turned back to the rack of glasses from the dishwasher, picked another up, dried it, and set it upside down behind the bar.

                “I don’t think that’s enough preface, Henry.” Walt leaned forward a little. “That’s not like you. What’s going on?” Henry figured his chances of getting shot were far lower than his chances of being punched in the face, so he moved back slightly, to the glasses again.

                “I am dating your daughter,” he said, voice as neutral and calm as he could make it. Walt went even stiller than his usual, lurking-hawk default.

                “I could have sworn you just said you were dating my daughter.” Slow, collected, with the anger hidden, possibly just under the rim of a stockpot, reading to come hissing over. Henry looked down, placed the glass carefully against the others with the faintest click.

                “I am.”

                “My daughter is thirty.”

                “I was at her baptism, Walt, I know.” The edge of annoyance crept into his voice, but Walt needed to come out and accuse him or hit him, one or the other. There was little chance of getting his blessing, Henry thought.

                “My daughter is thirty, and you are fifty-three, Henry!” Walt ground out, pressing his fingers down against the surface of the bar until the edges of his nails turned white. “What the hell are you doing?”

                “I am dating a woman who I like and admire, and is worthy of liking and admiration.”

                “I don’t need you to tell me my daughter is worthy of admiration, Henry! How long?” Henry dried another glass, sighing.

                “A month and a half. Not very long, but we did not think you would take well to not being told,” Henry said, a touch sourly. Walt took his hat off and ran his hands through his hair.

                “I made my peace with the Branch thing. It’s not my business who Cady dates,” Walt said, then slammed his fist down hard on the bar. “Damn it, Henry!” he hissed. “You helped _raise_ her. You went with Martha to move her into her college dorm when I was working on the Smithers case.” Henry paused, wondered if there was something constructive to say here, and decided to speak anyway.

                “She is not a little girl anymore, Walt.”

                “She is to me! And that’s not the point. The point is that—“ Walt put his elbow on the bar, leaned his face into his hand. “The point is that my best friend is dating my daughter.” He picked up another glass, wiped every lingering droplet of water from the dishwasher from the rim.

                “I am aware that Cady is significantly younger than me.” Walt put his hat back on. He still looked as mad as he ever did.

                “You have a bad track record with relationships,” Walt said flatly. Henry tossed his towel down onto the counter, put his hands on his hips.

                “If what you are saying is that I am not good enough for Cady, why not just say it?” He was not sure if it was the thought of Cady having another screw-up of a relationship or Walt’s knowledge that Henry’s taste historically ran to the superficially trashy that was irking the man now. Deena, the thief, had turned out to be actually trashy, but the memory of Walt’s silent, occasional outright judgment rankled.

                “That’s not it,” Walt said.

                “I am not interested in discussing my past or current relationships, I was informing you, as the man who is dating Cady and as your best friend, of the situation.” He picked up his towel again.

                “What I’m saying is that I treat my best friend differently from the way I treat the men who date Cady.” Walt seemed to possibly be cooling down.

                “Am I at least better than Branch?” he asked. Walt gave him a cool look.

                “Not a high bar, Henry.” He closed his eyes for a second. “I think I need a drink that’s not water.”

                “You are on duty.” Walt sighed.

                “In that case, I’d better be going. I’ll see you tonight,” he said. Henry shook his head.

                “I have a date.” That was maybe unnecessary, but Walt’s face darkened in a moderate show of annoyance, and at least Henry knew now that he was not completely at ease with it. That had not been unexpected, and it was not unsurmountable.

~

2\. Cady Tells

                Cady had put a lot of thought into this. She had, after flipping back and forth, decided to break the news to her dad at his house rather than somewhere in town. The Busy Bee had been tempting, as there was nothing like the public nature of a small-town diner to enforce civility, but they had a high chance of being overheard there, and since her dad had a habit of shouting at the station, it didn’t _guarantee_ he wouldn’t lose his cool. His house might make him feel more secure.

                She boiled water for the coffee and he made pancakes, and they went outside with the leftover coffee after they ate. It was getting cold fast, but she sipped at hers anyway. He seemed to know something was on her mind, and turned to her with his usual smile.

                “What’s up, punk?” She wrapped her hands around her coffee cup and looked out across the prairie.

                “I’m seeing someone.” She had been tempted to lead with qualifiers like “don’t get mad” but that would imply that he would be justified in his anger, or that she was nervous about his disapproval. And sure, she might be somewhat, but it was better to say it plainly. He turned and squinted into the sunrise for a few long moments, then looked back at her.

                “Cady, I know I handled the Branch thing badly. It’s your life, and you only owe the explanations you wanna give me.”     

                “Well,” she said, feeling her heart turn colder than the spring morning with a rush of adrenaline. “I think you’d be just as mad about this one if I didn’t tell you.”

                That made him sharpen up, and his posture got straighter. He set down the coffee up, and Cady hugged hers closer, staying quiet. He matched the silence for a while, then finally spoke.

                “You gonna tell me?” He smiled at her. “C’mon, it can’t be worse than Branch.” Cady let out a short laugh, because yes, but also no.

                “Henry,” she said quickly, but he just looked confused.

                “Henry who?” Great.

                “ _Henry,_ Dad.” His face turned perfectly hard, whatever he was thinking or feeling shuttered away behind stony eyes. Then he reached up and punched one of the porch railings. Cady winced. She hated when he did things like that. Then he put his face in his other hand. “Dad?” she asked.

                “Don’t worry, I’m not going to _kill_ Henry over this,” he said. “Though I kind of want to.”

                “I’m not having a talk about how I’m thirty years old with you again,” she warned.

                “I might be having a talk with him about how he’s fifty-three,” he replied.

                “I told you about this so I wouldn’t feel guilty, not because either of us are asking for your permission,” she said. He twitched his mouth in that thing that was both a grimace and a smile, and flexed his hand.

                “You understand it’s hard to be told my daughter is dating my best friend.” Cady set her coffee aside and moved so that she was closer to him.

                “Yeah,” she said noncommittally.

                “I guess your relationship changed, uh, when you were working on his case together.”

                “Something like that,” she agreed. He rubbed her shoulder after a second, sighing.

                “I’ll be happy to kick his ass at any time.”

                “Dad, you know Henry’s a good man,” she rebuked him.

                “I know Henry,” he agreed. “He’s a good man, but he’s a man like the rest of us.”

                “It’s not like we didn’t consider all the difficulties that would be involved before we started this. How many things make it hard. It’s still worth it.” He shrugged a little, not saying anything while a lone goshawk crossed from one side of the sky to the other.

                “I just want you to be happy, punk.”

                “I know, Dad. And I am.”

                He was still mad, she could tell, but they just did the dishes quietly, and she left for the office and he left for the station.

~

3\. Henry and Cady Tell

                Cady’s bedroom was exactly what Henry would have expected, if he had ever thought about it: meticulously clean, mostly furnished in white with touches of color, practically arranged. Her personality was on display, though, in the books on the low bookshelf, in the series of simply framed watercolors on the wall that all depicted scenes from San Francisco and the Connecticut countryside. The sun was coming through the blinds just a little, making the white curtains glow.

                Cady had woken up when he got up to use the bathroom, and was currently pressed close against his chest, one hand drifting through his hair. Her face was buried in his neck, and her voice was still sleepy when she turned her head to look at him, a slight frown on her face.

                “Why did you cut your hair?” she asked. “It was so long and beautiful.” He laughed a little.

                “I had to throw a particularly angry and violent drunk out of the Red Pony one night and he almost snapped my neck when he got hold of it,” he said. Cady hmmed in acknowledgement.

                “That was all it took?” she asked.

                “It was also getting grey,” he said dryly, and she snickered a little, running her hands through it again and lifting her head to mock inspect it.

                “Not that grey,” she pronounced, and drew away from him, sprang out of bed, and grabbed an assortment of clothes from her closet. He was still registering the cooling of her space in the bed when the bathroom door closed and the sound of the shower started.

                Coffee seemed absolutely necessary, so he got out of bed, pulled on his jeans and a shirt, and went into Cady’s kitchen. Like the rest of her small house, it was spotless and practical, and he started water for tea and coffee, took eggs out of the fridge. The freezer had both sausage and bacon, but he would wait until Cady was ready and she could choose.

                She came out of the shower a few minutes later, added the hot water and tea to a teapot, and sat down to watch it, as if letting it stew for a few seconds too long or not long enough would be a disaster. He wanted to tell her to relax, but she would be offended, and it being Cady, she probably thought she was relaxed anyway. He settled for putting a plate with half the eggs he’d cooked in front of her.

                “Thank you, Henry,” she said with a smile, and picked up the teapot. “This should be ready. I’m not sure if it’s up to your usual standards, but it’s the best to be found in this house.” He poured them each a cup, and smiled. A little of the tension in her smile and eyes eased.

                “I am sure it is delicious,” he said.

                “The eggs are fantastic,” she said, and her green eyes suddenly flashed with happiness, like a mountain stream in sunlight. “I’m glad you stayed, this is a really nice way to spend the morning.”

                “I am glad too.” He really was: Cady was beautiful any time, but especially in the brief moments she managed to cast off the stress that usually seemed wrapped tight around her eyes and joints. He leaned towards her a little, picked up her hand, and kissed it, making her laugh.

                “I guess I should give you a token of my favor to wear in your armor,” she said, but she was smiling with real affection, her eyes still bright and sparkling.

                Someone knocked on the door. Cady startled, putting down her fork and hurrying to the sink to wash her hands.

                “Let me get that,” she said, a nervous edge in her voice, and walked out of the kitchen and his line of sight. The door swung open, and he heard Cady say “Vic!” with a note of mingled fear and relief.

                “Hey, Cady,” Vic’s voice, with its faintly nasal but pleasant tone, drifted into the kitchen. “I’m actually looking for Henry.”

                “So why are you here?” Cady’s voice was higher than usual, and he could imagine the tension in her stance.

                “Because I was driving by and saw his truck,” Vic said dryly.

                “Well, come in,” Cady said, resigned, and the sound of Vic’s boots came down the short hallway. She gave Henry a twisted smile, one that suggested she was at least as amused as she was glad for them.

                “Good morning,” he said, and indicated the pot of tea. “Thirsty?”

                “We need you to come give your opinion on something,” she said. He did not move.

                “I think it can wait until I am done with breakfast,” he replied, and she sank into one of the chairs, looking curiously at Cady.

                “You could have just kept driving past the house when you saw Henry was here,” Cady said, sounding annoyed. Vic gave her a slightly remorseful look.

                “Yeah, well, I would have, but this a murder, so I thought that trumped your privacy. I’m not gonna tell Walt where I found you.” She sat back in the chair.

                “It might be better if we tell him this morning,” Cady said slowly. “He’ll be thinking about the murder, we arrive together with Vic, he deals with it in the context of the case so he doesn’t get too mad.” She gave him a questioning look.

                “It could be better if we do it together,” he said.

                “Well, don’t ask me to be the peacekeeper,” Vic cut in. “I’ve already taken one of Walt’s punches to the face for someone else.”

                “He’s not going to punch Henry,” Cady said firmly.

                “No, he has a gun,” he said, and thought there was a good chance of being punched. “Vic, I will be along in five minutes.” She got the hint, and stood up and left with a last raised eyebrow at them both.

                “Oh my god,” Cady said quietly, and he stood up, walked to where she was standing next to the fridge, and cupped her face in his hand.

                “This is going to be fine,” he said. “We knew it had to be done someday. Vic will not tell, and we can tell him later if you like.” She shook her head.

                “No, now is good.” She gave him a weak smile. “He’ll be civil. Besides, he’s promised to get out of my business when it comes to relationships.” He leaned down and kissed her gently, feeling her smile against his lips.

                He put the rest of his layers and his boots on, and so did Cady.

                “Let’s just take your truck,” she said abruptly, as she locked the door behind her. “It’s pointless to be nervous about this.”

                “Not after everything else we have had to worry about,” he said, and she smiled at him, fidgeting at the hem of her sweater, but her eyes were mostly still and calm, and he hoped his were too.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm probably not especially generous to Walt in this one, but my least favorite thing about Walt is the way he deals with anger, it's terrible, so *shrug*.


End file.
